


Conversations in the Night

by woolfverse



Series: Woolfverse [23]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: 2010s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character of Color, Crying, Gen, Hugs, Late Night Conversations, Minor Character Death, Next-Gen, POV Third Person, Past Tense, magical thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woolfverse/pseuds/woolfverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Wollaton, the night of Allendale's death, Tharkay has conversations first with his son and then his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations in the Night

When Tharkay glanced into George's room, the boy was already curled up in his bed, two large blue eyes staring at him in the lamplight. Tharkay came over to give him the kiss good-night he had promised and received in return a hesitant question. "Tharkay, is Daddy going to be all right?"

"What do you mean?" Tharkay, suspecting the conversation might take more than a few words' reassurance, sat at the edge of George's bed, facing him.

George squirmed into a seated position, regarding Tharkay with one of his own expressions: a flat sort of look that, on George, did little to hide his worry. "He's been..." and he gestured vaguely, language apparently failing him.

Tharkay suggested, "He's been very quiet."

"Yes, but..." A frown came over his son's face. "He's been more than that. Like--like a robot."

"Well," and here, Tharkay paused for some time, an appropriate response eluding him. The expectation on George's face--George, who still seemed convinced that his parents had answers to any and all of his queries--made the search for apt words no easier. "I cannot say for sure, but I imagine that he is still in shock."

George considered this, then gazed up at Tharkay with a look that clearly stated that he had something to say but wasn't sure he wanted to. At Tharkay's nod, he said, "But--everyone knew Po-la was going to die soon."

"But we didn't know when." Again, Tharkay chose his words with care. "I doubt he expected it to happen today." As George did not seem entirely satisfied by this explanation, Tharkay continued, "After this, I imagine he will be very sad for some time--but eventually, he will be more himself."

At this, he received a nod, though the desire to say something more was still written across George's face. Tharkay waited quietly, until finally, in a voice a step above inaudible, George asked, "Was he this sad when my mum died?"

"He was very sad." The memory of Will's face upon hearing of his cousin's death came to him suddenly, vivid in his mind's eye as he searched for a delicate way to convey the distinction to George. "But I think he was very sad in a different way. Your mum...she meant something different to him than Po-la did."

Forgoing words, George leaned forward to hug Tharkay tightly, his face pressed into Tharkay's shoulder. Tharkay returned the embrace, and they sat together in silence.

"I wish Po-la hadn't died," George mumbled as he lay back down and Tharkay pulled the blankets up around him once more.

Tharkay, who found he did not share these sentiments, could only bring himself to say, "It's all right if you miss him."

George said nothing more, but kissed him good-night once again and curled into a ball, the covers tucked up around his chin. As able to take a hint as always, Tharkay turned off the lamp and slipped out of his room to see how Martha was doing.

-

"Tharkay?" Martha asked, just as Tharkay turned out the light in her room. He glanced back at her, scooting up to a sitting position in bed, her expression worried in the light of the hallway.

"Yes, Martha?"

She did not reply at first, until Tharkay wondered if she had managed to fall asleep, sitting up and eyes open. But then, twisting a lock of golden hair between her fingers, she said, "What if I did something bad?"

"Something bad?" he repeated.

"Something--" and she looked down at the comforter, eyebrows in a furrow. "Something really bad."

He turned the light on again and closed the door softly before coming to sit next to her, at the edge of her bed; whatever she was worried about, all of Wollaton Hall did not need to know. "What sort of thing, Martha?"

"Just, what if I did," she insisted, refusing to meet his gaze.

Tharkay chose his words carefully. The evening had not been an enjoyable one for anyone involved, and the last thing he cared to do was upset his daughter more. "I suppose I could not tell you what the consequences might be, without knowing what happened."

She sniffled and leaned into his side. Tharkay wrapped an arm around her. "Last Christmas--" and her voice caught, but she regained herself. "Last Christmas, Po-la was being mean to you and Daddy, remember?"

As far as Tharkay could recall, the last Christmas had been no more uncomfortable than any other year. The twins were growing old enough to begin to notice more than their presents and their cousins, however, and the strained undercurrent to all of Will and Lord Allendale's interactions (let alone Tharkay's relationship to the man) was never far from the surface. The man might have been on his last legs at that point, but he could still deliver an expression of disgust to rival any Tharkay had seen when they were expected to shake hands.

Again, he replied slowly, as neutrally as he could. "Po-la and Daddy disagreed about a lot of things. I am not certain I would call him mean." If only because there were far more specific words that suited far better, he thought.

"He _was_," came the vehement reply. Tears were still running down her cheeks as she looked up at Tharkay, but her expression was defiant. "He was _very_ mean."

"If he was," Tharkay answered, "that was a bad thing that he did. It was never your fault or George's."

"That wasn't the one I meant." Martha sniffled quite loudly. "He was making Daddy so unhappy that I wished Christmas was over and we could go to Aunt Jane's instead, and then I--then I did something bad."

Tharkay only waited, rubbing circles on her back as she cried; pressing her for an explanation was unnecessary when she seemed determined to explain herself.

"Then I wished--I wished that Po-la would die already," and the words dissolved into a sob as she buried her face in Tharkay's nightshirt. "Because he was _already_ so sick, and even though he always says nice things to George and me, he's mean to you and Daddy, and it's just--it's not _fair_, and I did something very bad, Tharkay."

Something in his chest twisted horribly at her explanation, his arm around Martha tightening reflexively; the desire to grab Will's father and shake him made itself known, and not for the first time. As calmly as he could, he said, "You did not. You are not responsible for Po-la's death." When she didn't reply, he continued, "Nobody is responsible for it; Po-la was ill, and he was an old man. You are not at fault anymore than George or Daddy or I am."

This seemed enough to soothe her, for after several more long moments, Martha's breathing evened out from its hiccuping sobs. "I know wishes aren't real like that," she said softly, still talking into his t-shirt, "but--but what if I _did_ make it happen?"

Resisting the urge to tell her that if wishes killed, Tharkay would have already taken care of quite a few people, her Po-la included, he said, quite firmly, "What matters is that you did not."

"He _was_ very mean sometimes," Martha added, apparentely set on having at least one of her points validated.

"Everyone is very mean sometimes." Tharkay carefully disentangled himself from her and stood. "Now, I am going to find you some tissues, and then you are going to try to sleep. Does that sound fair?"

Martha nodded, rubbing at her eyes. "Could I have some water, too? I have a headache."

"I'll see what I can do," Tharkay said, and slipped out of her bedroom to find the promised items.

Upon returning, he found her asleep, sprawled awkwardly in a half-seated position. He moved her so she was lying more comfortably, with care, lest he wake her, and kissed her goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 2014, when the twins're twelve. Which is about the threshold for magical thinking, but hey, Martha's skeptical about it, too.


End file.
